Me, myself and pie

The solo, late-night pie excursion is imbued with an undeniable charm. I derive a great deal of satisfaction from occupying a whole booth by myself, spreading out my things in a decadent sprawl, a feudal lord presiding over a green vinyl fiefdom. I am separated from the rest of the room from the bridge of the nose down. It is perfect. The baby seal shirt will not offend and only I will know that I am not wearing socks.

My fortress walls are permeable, though, to snatched snippets of strangers' talk. High-pitched, frantic profanity and fervent, well-meant but misinterpreted advice mingle, penetrating my porous shell. Lives are happening out there, lives bathed in neon, stiff with product, barely covered by short skirts. Pastel polos, popped collars and two eggs over easy with two versions of the same meat. White bread. Wristbands. I bite my lower lip and caress my phone and consider pie.

And so I write, while pied lives condense, coalesce and trickle down the walls of my plastic paradise. It's bound to puddle beneath my seat, pool below my drawn-up legs. I'll walk through it on my way out and I'll feel it swirl around my ankles, watch it rise in curlicue clouds with each step I take toward the door, a dense fog parting and re-forming in my solitary wake.

(I had pecan pie. They didn't have strawberry-rhubarb or apple and they had never heard of cloudberry. The decaf was effete but I drank it anyway.)

I miss him. The cadence of his slumber, his sweet sleep smell. His hand, curled heavy on the curve of my hip. I would be there with him now, in the spare room, in the too-short bed. I would walk with him through the fog of others and our wake would be significant, as the wake of two tends to be.

I expect that I shall love him one hundred times over by the time he returns.

streetsy

sittin' up here in my big office chair i stare
in my mirror you know i got that crazy bedroom hair from
wrestling in the a.m. and not playin' fair
fuck bein' in on time, even if i could
i wouldn't trade this shit in, it's all good
'cause we be sippin' java beneath the sheets
we be lockin' legs and droppin' beats
we got that precious hour if you wanna play me/delay me
i know you got the necessary will and power
to rock me straight up on one leg in the shower
you all that and a bag of fritos
a cool dude in a loose mood like chester cheeto
rollin' like a rock with a rhyme and a reason
changin' my world like a karma chameleon
got my camo tank 'cause you know it's turkey season
and i know you love it when i be teasin' you
with my wide grey eyes between your spread thighs
and my sighs while your fingers do the walking
you got me talkin', speaking in tongues
twisted, talented and various like Babylon
hittin' all my spots, spittin' white hot shots across
olive skin that's smooth like buttah
i'm lovin' it like McDonald's, don't want no other
check that clock - damn, i'm late for that reunion i'd sooner
sit here and groove but i gotta find the cheddar,
'cause i'm a public mouse in a brown brick house
across a frozen river, gotta give 'er
'til my liver shivers

peace

Joy

I am in love. Heart-thumpingly, Cheshire-grinningly, head-over-heels in love.

He told me without words. I heard him speak as clearly as if he had whispered in my ear. I answered in kind, the words that had been clamouring inside me travelling soundlessly, electrically from grey to blue and back again.

Epiphany. Ecstasy.

I am home.

You had me at "fishcakes"...

Last night was special. Crystal and china glowed and Cole Porter kept time. There were snowy linens and full place settings of cutlery. There was garnish.

He cooked me dinner, fed me morsels from fingers redolent of southern France and the sea. He moved crimson and unencumbered through the fragrant steam, hands gentle on tender greenery. The hot oil spoke and he listened. I was the knife he held, the bubbling pot he stirred. I was unprepared for him to have everything we needed.

Honeyed lips were licked while Louis growled in the other room. The last of the wine was golden and sweet and I was drunk on candlelight. He told me that I am beautiful. I didn't tell him that my heart is his if he wants it.

Is it time? Only Louis knows.